


Cuervo Gold

by alley_oops, jennandanica



Series: A Breath of Home [30]
Category: Actor RPF, Australian Actor RPF, True Blood RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-25
Updated: 2012-06-25
Packaged: 2017-11-08 13:01:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/443462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alley_oops/pseuds/alley_oops, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennandanica/pseuds/jennandanica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Ryan meet at the San Diego Comic Con and hot sex ensues. In this chapter, Ryan gets drunk and makes a video...</p><p>
  <i>The words completely fucking shock Ryan. Every time he thinks he's got a hold of this thing with Sam... He twists his hand 'round the head of his cock and arches against the sofa cushions with a cry, spraying hot all over his fingers.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cuervo Gold

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone familiar with the RPG Citadel, this is NOT backstory for our pups in the game. In Citadel, Sam is played as the actor and Ryan is played AU as a songwriter. And then a little birdie told us our boys were going to be at SDCC at the same time in real life and we couldn't pass up the opportunity to see what would happen in another world, with the boys both as their actor selves.

Ryan can handle his beer. As a matter of fact, he's well-known among his circle of friends for being the crazy bloke who'll down a few pints and then impulsively sign up to run a marathon. He's even competed in triathlons hungover, and while he wouldn't necessarily recommend the experience, he has always finished strong. Beer is good.

It's the tequila that fucks him up.

Drinking alone isn't the greatest of ideas at the best of times. Drinking alone when he misses Sam and he's all too aware that Sam is half a world away... hell. It's definitely not his brightest move yet. But judgment and critical thinking went staggering out the window about an hour ago, and he's just so fucking horny right now, and so digging his digital video camera out of the closet suddenly seems like a _brilliant_ idea.

It takes a bit of maneuvering for him to get the camera set up and angled correctly -- time during which he might well sober up enough to question the wisdom of his plan, if it weren't for the fact that he lubricates with another shot. No lemon this time, no salt. Why bother with the trappings when he's flying on the Cuervo Gold?

Finally, though, Ryan manages to get set up to his satisfaction, and he strips down before hitting the record button and kneeling on the floor. At least he still has sufficient presence of mind not to attempt some kind of verbal introduction - small mercies - but instead just dives into things, stroking his fingertips along his half-hard cock and moaning softly when it quickly swells full. Getting a tighter grip on himself, he begins jerking off, slow and steady. He licks the fingers of his free hand and toys with his left nipple, gently at first, drawing it into a stiff peak. Then he snaps the first clothespin into place with a soft cry. His other nipple gets the same treatment, and "slow and steady" is now a thing of the past.

Eyes screwed shut, lips parted and wet, Ryan drops his hand to his balls and tugs hard. It's funny, he never would have thought that a fingernail scored harshly along his sac could feel so fucking good at the right time; Sam taught him that. He whimpers softly, lost in a whirl of sensation now and forgetting all about his digital audience. His hand flies along his cock and he bites down on his bottom lip, then yanks the clothespin off his right nipple with a shout. 

He doesn't even make it to the second one. He comes so fucking hard, splashing hot and smearing his semen along his shaft with his fingers, stroking through the dizzying aftershocks. After a few long moments, he remembers enough to remove the other clothespin - gently, this time - and he cries out again as blood rushes back, the sensation so damn strong when he's feeling hyper-sensitive. Dragging open his bleary eyes, he blinks at the camera, its red light flashing like a warning signal -- one he doesn't heed.

"Miss you," Ryan whispers hoarsely, and reaches out with his clean hand to shut down the recording.

* * * 

In retrospect, it's kind of a wonder that he was actually coherent enough to upload the video to his laptop and successfully email the file to Sam. When he wakes the next morning with his head pounding like an earthquake, Ryan ignores how fucking queasy he feels and dashes to his computer in a flash of paranoia of just _whom_ he might have sent that fucking video to. He breathes a huge sigh of relief when he sees that - blessed be gods both great and small - he actually did manage to send it only to his lover. 

He makes quick work of deleting the file, then clears it from his camera's memory as well. He's pondering whether he can stomach some strong coffee just yet, when the blindingly obvious crashes down on him, stabbing him with a pain even more severe than what he's dealing with already: he actually sent that file. To Sam. Drunk and wanking and probably sloppy as fuck, the furthest thing from sexy on the face of the Earth. And he can't take it back.

" _Fuck!_ "

* * *

Ryan's email comes through mid-morning, while Sam's on break, but he's surrounded by people and there's no hope of checking it out. Instead he waits until lunch and thank god, he's back in his trailer, because he ends up so hard so fast he almost breaks something. It doesn't take more than a second viewing to figure out that maybe Ryan wasn't completely sober when he made the video, but Sam still watches it another five or six times before jerking off so he can actually go back to work. And since it's still middle of the night in L.A., there's no chance of calling Ryan until he gets home.

The moment he gets in though, he's on his phone, contacting his lover taking precedence over everything else.

Once his hangover finally starts to wear off, Ryan actually considers digging a hole just so he can go bury himself in it. Unfortunately, he doesn't own a spade, and so that plan would require going out to a store, and Ryan's pretty sure he can't deal with any other people today. By lunchtime - ha, like he's even going to attempt lunch - he's sulking on the couch, idly surfing the internet and praying there was some kind of massive server crash in South Africa last night. Whatever it takes to keep Sam from actually ever seeing that godforsaken video.

But then his phone rings - Sam's ringtone - and... _fuck_. "Hello?" he says, hoping like hell his voice sounds normal.

"Hey," Sam says with a slow smile, grabbing a beer from the fridge and settling on the couch. "How are you doing?"

"...Okay." Ryan chews on his bottom lip, trying to garner clues from Sam's voice. Of course, those few words don't give him much. "You?"

"I'm great," Sam says, his grin widening. "Especially after getting this video my boyfriend sent me."

"Oh, god," Ryan groans. It's his worst fucking fear come true -- Sam is laughing at him, he can tell. "Look, I'm sorry, I was so fucking smashed, and there should be some kind of... some kind of _device_ , or something, that, like, makes cameras and such not work when you're drunk, you know, like those monitors people have to blow into to start their cars if they've already been convicted for drunk driving, _something_..." Abruptly Ryan realizes that he's babbling, which just makes him feel even more foolish.

"Hey," Sam says, a little stunned by Ryan's outburst. "Did I sound like I was complaining?" he asks. "It was fucking hot. I ended up jerking off in my trailer watching it."

Ryan blinks. "You... You did?"

"Yeah." Sam nods. "I could tell you were drunk but it was hot. I loved the bit with the clothespins and how you came the second you took the first one off."

God, Ryan is blushing hot enough that he thinks his skin might actually catch fire, but lust twists in his gut in an instant. "Well, you know who taught me that trick," he mutters, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "It didn't... it didn't look stupid?"

"You didn't watch it?" Sam asks.

"Fuck, no." Ryan is surprised by the question. "I just... you know, I just sent it. And you've got to erase it," he says, his voice stronger, more certain now.

"Why? I won't let anyone see it," Sam promises.

"That's not--" Ryan cuts himself off, wondering if it's just his imagination that his head is beginning to ache once more. A startling thought occurs to him. "Wait, are you going to watch it again?"

"I was planning on it," Sam says, taking a sip of his beer.

Ryan sits back on the couch, his thoughts focusing more, coalescing from their panicked mess of earlier. "You're going to wank to it again," he says, and this time there's no question in his voice. "You're going to jack yourself off, thinking about me, watching me... because you actually think it's hot."

"Damn right I am," Sam says with a soft laugh. "Ryan, you sent me _porn_ , starring my boyfriend, and I'm on the other fucking side of the world from him. If it were actually film, I'd be wearing the thing out within a few weeks."

Stunned, Ryan just sits for a moment with his mouth gaping open. That... that certainly puts a different spin on things. Apparently Sam wasn't laughing _at_ him at all. Of course, now Ryan is wondering just what exactly he did on the video, because he can't really remember... Sam did mention clothespins, so that fuzzy detail at least becomes a little clearer. "When you watch it, will you think about how you want to touch me?" he asks, his voice husky.

"God, yeah," Sam says, shifting, his jeans suddenly tighter. "It's all I can think of. What I'd do if I was there, could touch you, could twist those clothespins, get my hands on your balls..."

Ryan groans softly, laying his head back against the couch cushion. "I want your hands on me," he murmurs, shutting his eyes and picturing it. "I want you touching me, hurting me, because you always make it feel so fucking good."

"You want me slapping your cock?" Sam says, rubbing his hand over his crotch. "Squeezing your balls and digging my nails into the head."

"Yes," Ryan whispers hoarsely. He wouldn't have thought it possible after last night - okay, and after this morning - but his cock is fucking swelling full, and he grinds the heel of his hand against the bulge in his shorts. "And biting me. Leaving your marks on me even though you know I'm going to have to work to hide them."

"If I bite your cock, you won't have to worry about hiding them at all," Sam grins, rubbing harder. Fuck. "I'll tie a bunch of clothespins together, loop them up and down your sides and suck your cock as I pull them off and you'll come so fucking hard..."

"Jesus Christ." Where does Sam even get these wicked ideas? It sounds painful as all hell but Ryan can't help the way his prick throbs with need. He pins the phone between his ear and shoulder and unzips his cargo shorts, slipping his hand inside and sighing softly when his fingers close around his erection. "Then what about you?" he asks, swiftly working himself. "How will you come?"

"I'll put you on your knees and fuck your throat, shove in again and again until you're in tears and then pull out at the last minute and come all over your face," Sam says, stroking his cock through his jeans, unwilling to even bother with trying to get them undone. Not when they're both this close.

The words completely fucking shock Ryan. Every time he thinks he's got a hold of this thing with Sam... He twists his hand 'round the head of his cock and arches against the sofa cushions with a cry, spraying hot all over his fingers.

Fuck. Sam groans raggedly, the sound welling up from his deep in his chest, and comes too, soaking the front of his jeans.

"Ohgodfuck," Ryan mumbles, his chest heaving like he's just run a sprint. He tries to focus his gaze on a framed picture on the wall opposite, then gives up and simply lets his eyes close. "Fuck, you sound so sexy when you come."

"Yeah?" Sam grins. "Is it more or less sexy if I tell you I came in my jeans?"

Ryan raises an eyebrow. "I don't know. Where are you?" he asks, but a second later he decides it doesn't matter one damn bit -- not to him, anyway. "That's fucking hot, no matter what."

"Good to know." Sam laughs. "How's your head?"

"It's about a metric ton better now than it was a few hours ago," Ryan confesses, his voice rueful. He drags his clean hand through his hair. "Guess I really shouldn't drink alone when I'm missing you so much."

"Oh I don't know about that, especially if you keep sending me more porn," Sam teases, making a face as his damp jeans start to cool.

"Yeah, well, maybe next time you'll make some with me," Ryan teases back, grinning even as his face heats. "I need something to watch, too. Get me through these long lonely stretches without you."

"I think we can probably manage that," Sam says. "Just as long as it gets hidden away under a really good password." He grins. "Does that mean you're going to bring your videocamera?"

Ryan bites down on his bottom lip, his smile taking over. "Yeah, I could do that," he murmurs, shy and excited at the same time. "I've actually... actually never done that. I mean, with all the shit I've done for work, I've never actually made a real sex tape."

Sam smiles. "Neither have I," he confesses. "You can have another of my firsts."

It's probably stupid, just how much Ryan is thrilled by the idea of being Sam's _first_ at anything. But there it is. "You've already been my first at quite a few things," he replies. "So I guess that's fair. Maybe you'll let me lick your ass for the camera?"

"Only if you fuck me first," Sam answers with an absolutely wicked grin, his slowly softening cock giving a throb.

Ryan groans. "Fuck you first," he echoes. "And then lick my come from your ass?" His breath shudders out.

"Yeah." Sam nods. Fuck. "Every last drop."

Picturing it, Ryan sighs out a breath, and his spent cock twinges. "Did you ever notice how, when it's really good porn, you hardly end up seeing any of it?" he murmurs. "Like, you get a few minutes in, and you get totally distracted..."

Sam chuckles. "Yeah."

"Mmm. I think we might find ourselves with that problem," Ryan says with a grin. Yeah, what a problem. All he can think about now is rimming Sam right after he fucks him, god. To watch himself actually doing it? There's no way Ryan will be able to sit through that without attacking his lover all over again.

"I think I'd be pretty damn happy having that problem," Sam says. He sighs softly. "I should probably let you go. Get myself washed up. Want me to call again tomorrow?"

"Yes." Ryan's answer follows instantly on the heels of Sam's question, and he blushes. "I mean, yeah. Call me. I'll be here." He bites his lip. "I love you."

"I love you too," Sam says with a smile before hanging up. God. He is so fucking gone it's not even funny.

[To chapter thirty-one](http://archiveofourown.org/works/482215)


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